“I can do that!” Sally’s eyes lit up as she tugged at the burnt crust of her sweatshirt and motioned Freyr down the hallway. “There might be a sewing machine in the linen closet, or maybe in one of the bedrooms.”

  Sally disappeared down the hallway, while Freyr lingered in the living room.

  Heimdall took a deep breath and realized the pain was loosening its grip on his skull. He directed a wide smile at his brother. “Sewing notions.”

  “Oh, stuff it, would you?” Thor shot back in forced exasperation. He was play-acting now. He wasn’t losing his temper in his expected spectacular fashion, and Heimdall appreciated the effort at reassurance.

  Freya and Saga pulled the last of the fabric off of the curtain rod, and Thor picked up the empty pole and weighed it in his hands. He turned it slowly and pivoted about the room, getting a feel for it as a weapon.

  “You’ll never conceal a beam that size beneath your dress. I don’t care how much fabric we’ve got.” Freya watched him parry and thrust with the curtain rod. “But we’ll see what we can do.”

  Thor spun the rod over his head and struck a sizable gash in the ceiling. Chunks of plaster rained down on his head.

  “There goes our security deposit.” Freyr coughed.

  Thor glared at him, daring the nature sprite to laugh as he brushed plaster dust off his wide shoulders. Heimdall caught Freyr’s eye and gestured toward the hallway.

  “Right. Sewing machine.” Freyr walked slowly down the hallway.

  Freya stretched the draperies across Thor’s chest while Saga rose up on her toes behind him to lay material over his shoulders.

  “I think we’ll just have enough.” Saga patted her brother’s thick side. “You could work out at Freya’s dojo sometime.”

  Thor rolled his eyes. Freya and Saga spread the material out on the floor and started marking on the fabric with a pen.

  A new wave of nausea hit Heimdall. He reached for a throw pillow and shoved it under his head as he rested back and closed his eyes. The pain was coming in short bursts, interrupting his thoughts. How could he lead this family into battle and save his girlfriend when he couldn’t manage the brain capacity to strategize?

  “So first, they’ll marry Freya off to Thrym,” he said. “And then Iduna, and then Maggie . . .”

  “It’s not going to happen, brother.” Thor strode toward him. “We will get Maggie out of there. And Iduna is a widow. I don’t know that the giants would be particularly interested.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Saga rose to her knees on the floor. “You think a female, divine or otherwise, has no value unless she’s never been married? If it’s vestal virgins they’re after, they’d be better off courting at a convent.”

  Heimdall lifted his head and peered at his sister through half-open eyelids. “They’re looking for wives whose hearts have never belonged to another.” He touched the tender spot on his head and immediately wished he hadn’t. “For all their blustering, and for all the headaches they invariably cause . . .”

  Thor dropped down on the sofa with a thud that shook the floor and rattled the dishes in the china cabinet. When Saga frowned at him, he just shrugged.

  “Anyway,” Heimdall sighed loudly. “Frost Giants can be remarkably sensitive creatures. Having to compete with former lovers is something they can’t stomach.”

  “Awww,” Thor cooed. “I think someone’s been watching the Lifetime Network while he’s been laid up. Or is that what you and Maggie do on date nights? Does she make all your decisions now?”

  Gripping the chair’s armrests, Heimdall shook his head. “When I’m back on my feet, brother . . .”

  Thor stood and marched toward Heimdall’s chair, casting a long shadow over him. “Yes? When you’re back on your feet? Then what?”

  Heimdall’s jaw hardened. Despite the dizziness, he sat up straight and leaned forward in his chair, practically clawing the upholstery. “There will be a reckoning. Brother to brother, warrior to warrior. There has been enough idle chatter and cattiness from you.” He took a breath and pierced Thor with a steely glare. “You will desist or answer to me later, once all this is done.”

  Thor smiled and stepped back. “That’s better. You’ve wasted too much time feeling sorry for yourself. Nursing your poor head and worrying over your woman. You’ve been about as useful as a newborn mewling over melted ice cream.”

  Heimdall rose slowly to his feet, his anger muting the pain in his head. He ignored his blurring vision and stood toe to toe with Thor. “It’s not your place to lecture me. Do I have to remind you who is in charge here?”

  “You do not. But apparently somebody had to remind you.”

  Heimdall paused. “Right.” He peeled the compress from his brow and let it drop to the floor. He glanced around the room.

  “This is how it’s going to work.” Heimdall gestured toward Freya and Saga. “Once you’ve finished with the dress—and Thor, I’m certain you’ll look lovely in that color, with the right make-up and some flowers in your hair.”

  Thor snorted.

  Heimdall turned back to the women. “You will accompany us to the meeting, but will remain hidden. And I mean completely, absolutely out of sight. I don’t want you shadowing us as we head inside the fortress. You stay out.”

  Freya sighed loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

  Heimdall looked at Saga and waited.

  Saga rolled her eyes. “Yeah. Okay. Whatever.”

  “If this turns sour for us, if we run into any kind of trouble tonight, I want the two of you to return here. Immediately.” He looked at both of them in turn, waiting for each to offer a nod of acknowledgment. “You’ll fetch Sally, and you’ll be on the very first ferry back to the mainland. No exceptions.”

  Saga frowned. “If you get into trouble, why shouldn’t we help? We’re just supposed to slink out of here like cowards?”

  “No,” Freya said. “If they’re defeated, there’ll be no safety for us here. We’ll be absent our kinsmen as well as the apples. Unless we want to be married off to Frost Giants.”

  “No, thank you,” Saga answered quickly.

  Freyr appeared from the hallway, carrying an ancient sewing machine. Sally was close at his elbow with a wicker basket tucked under one arm.

  “Found these in back of the closet in one of the bedrooms.” Freyr set the machine on the coffee table. “Sewing machine. Sewing supplies.”

  He looked at Thor with a wry smile. “Sewing notions.”

  Thor rolled his eyes and looked away.

  Saga walked over to Sally and dug into the basket she was holding.

  “We can still run to the store, if you need more stuff,” Sally offered. “Freyr can drive.”

  Sally’s voice caught on the last syllable. Heimdall smiled at her, and she made a face and turned away. In a room full of Norse gods gearing up to do battle with their fiercest, most bitter rivals—even if “gearing up” involved bridal bouquets and sewing notions—the Rune Witch remained preoccupied with her impossible crush on a nature deity who at best thought of her as a useful pet. In a way, it was refreshing.

  “It’s okay,” Saga replied as she took the basket from Sally’s hands. “I think we’ve got it covered.”

  “Okay, but whatever you need,” Sally said. “I just want to help. Whatever you need.”

  “Sally.” Heimdall waited for her to turn toward him and meet his eye. Her blushing cheeks cooled as she waited for his direction. “You can help us now by continuing your work with the runes. Can you do that for us?”

  Sally nodded. Heimdall hadn’t thought someone could look both disappointed and grateful at the same time, but the Rune Witch managed it. She turned and headed back down the hallway.

  Saga unrolled a measuring tape and approached Thor. “Okay, bridezilla. Time for your fitting.”

  Thor stood still, letting Saga measure across his chest, down the length of his arms, around his waist and hips, and across his shoulders. Freya stood in front of him, trying to envision the dress.

  “Maybe something with an empire waist?” Freya suggested. “You know, something slimming, to minimize the . . .” She looked at Thor and shrugged. “Well, just to minimize.”

  Thor glanced at Heimdall with a playful tilt. “Just so long as I don’t get left at the altar.”

  12

  Thor had to stop every few minutes to adjust the train of his dress.

  After a long climb up the rocky path, Thor, Freyr, and Heimdall approached the designated meeting area near the top of the mountain. They stopped just before rounding the next-to-last bend in the trail.

  Freyr scouted ahead a few paces, then doubled back. “There are torches lit. They’re probably already there waiting for us.”

  Heimdall glanced at Thor. “You’re sure about this?”

  Thor lifted his veil, trying not to disturb his flowered crown. “What? You think I’m going to get all dressed up and then turn back?”

  Heimdall sighed. He wasn’t conscious of reaching out to steady himself against the rock wall, but Thor noticed. And Heimdall saw him notice. He pushed away from the jagged surface and cleared his throat.

  “What I meant was, are you sure about heading in there, just the two of you? We can try taking them now.”

  “Just the three of us? Out in the open, against Frost Giants?” Thor frowned. “No. We have no idea how many of them there are. We go inside. Fighting in close quarters will give us an advantage.” Still holding the veil aloft with one hand, he grasped Freyr’s shoulder with the other. “And I’ve got a martial arts master right here with me.”

  Freyr smiled at the unexpected compliment.

  Thor lifted his eyebrows playfully. “Of course, your sister is more formidable, but you’ll do in a pinch.”

  Freyr groaned. He stepped out into the path again and was about to continue forward when Heimdall pulled him back.

  “If you find Maggie, you know what to do, right? If she’s in there, if she’s hurt . . .”

  Freyr gripped his cousin’s elbow. “We know what to do. And we will find her.”

  Heimdall leaned against the rock wall again. “You’d better get going.”

  “Wait.” Thor dropped the lace veil over his face and struggled to adjust the heavy fabric of the tapestried gown. For quick work, Freya and Saga had done a noteworthy job. The fit was tight through the bodice, with stones stuffed into the bra for effect—and for easy access to ammunition once the fighting started. The full skirt easily hid the fighting sticks, hammer, wrench, and other tools they’d found in the rental house’s utility closet.

  “Will you help me with this?” Thor tugged at the fabric, trying to get comfortable. “I honestly have no idea how women put up with all of this.”

  Freyr stepped behind him to smooth out the gown’s sleeves and to adjust the train which had once again gotten tangled around Thor’s heavy boots. “You’re even fussier in a dress, if that’s possible.”

  Thor made a move to stomp on Freyr’s fingers as he straightened the hemline, but Freyr snatched his hand away and laughed.

  “Such a lady, too.”

  Thor grumbled beneath the veil. “When I get my hands on Thrym . . .”

  Freyr stood next to him and offered his arm. “Yes, no doubt you’ll give him a wedding night he’ll never forget.”

  Thor growled something unintelligible and looked down at his bouquet of white lilies which Freyr had picked up at the village market.

  “Aren’t white lilies supposed to be for funerals?”

  Freyr didn’t try to mask his exasperation. “Okay, first off, yes, that is the tradition in Norway. In this case, I thought the symbolism appropriate.”

  Thor turned the bouquet in his hands, smiling in new appreciation of the arrangement. But Freyr fixed him with a hard stare.

  “Secondly . . . Since when do you know anything about flowers?”

  Thor’s eyes widened with indignation. Pulling himself up to his full height, he cleared his throat before blasting his slender cousin, but started coughing instead.

  “I— I’ve,” Thor choked, “sent a few bouquets in my time.”

  Freyr eyed him with a wry smile. Thor’s complexion reddened.

  “By Hel’s own lapdog.” Freyr shook his head. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or embarrassed.”

  Thor ignored the comment. His coughing fit ended, the big god squared his shoulders and took Freyr’s proffered arm as daintily as possible “Shall we, then?”

  Before they started off again, Thor glanced over his shoulder at Heimdall. “Make the call. They’ll be worried.”

  Heimdall reached into his pocket for Saga’s phone and made a call on speakerphone. “They’re on their way.”

  “What can you see?” Freya’s voice came over the connection. “How many of them are there?”

  “I’m not that close, not yet,” Heimdall replied. “Be patient.”

  “Soon enough,” Thor said. He looked overhead and silently cursed the summer’s endless daylight. Why couldn’t have Heimdall taken his vacation in the dark instead?

  Heimdall slid the phone back into his pocket. “I’ll follow as far as I can.”

  Thor nodded and faced forward with Freyr. They marched together and within moments had turned the bend, and Heimdall fell out of sight.

  Thor kept tripping on the hem of his gown. Every few paces, Freyr had to stop and wait for him to disentangle himself from his own train, and then re-adjust the length of lace covering his face.

  When they stopped for the twelfth time, Freyr crossed his arms and sighed. “Is this really necessary? They’re waiting for us, you know.”

  Thor was tempted to lift his veil and hurl a wicked insult at the insubordinate Vanir—kin or not—but they were too close to the arranged meeting point to risk discovery.

  “I’m doing my best,” Thor responded in a gruff approximation of a girlish lilt that didn’t sound anything like an actual female.

  Freyr tried to get a glimpse of Thor beneath the veil. “You’re not seriously going to talk like that, are you?”

  “Why don’t you ride a flatulent goat off a steep cliff?” Thor spat in a hoarse whisper.

  “A gruff and feisty bride. I like it.” Freyr leaned back and laughed. “But you might want to tone it down. Freya’s not a fan of Thrym, but she is less direct with her barbs.”

  Thor twisted the tight bodice across his torso, trying to prevent the fabric from binding beneath his arms. “Who said I was trying to insult a giant? That one was just for you.”

  “Whatever you say, princess.” Freyr paced while Thor fidgeted. “Try not to tear the dress to pieces just yet, eh?”

  Thor shoved the bouquet beneath his veil and held the flowers in his teeth to free both hands. He yanked at the ivory-colored fabric—repurposed pillowcases—that rose from the bust to cover the shoulders before finishing in a high collar around Thor’s thick neck.

  “This liner, or whatever the hell it’s supposed to be, is incredibly itchy,” Thor complained through clenched teeth. “Makes me want to tear my own skin off.”

  Freyr patted Thor’s elbow. “If you weren’t so shy about showing a little cleavage, you wouldn’t be having this problem.”

  Thor dropped the bouquet into his hand and growled. “Go eat a troll. You know I’ve got too much chest hair to be showing any skin. I don’t care how long they were stuck in that glacier. Even a Frost Giant is going to draw the line somewhere.”

  Freyr grabbed Thor by the shoulders and shook him, or tried to. Short of an 8.2 earthquake or an enraged Saga, there wasn’t much that could rattle the massive god.

  “It’s time to get it together,” Freyr said.

  Thor’s muscles relaxed. He smoothed out the material of the gown’s skirt and lifted his bouquet with surprising grace.

  “So, how do I look?” Thor hastily raised a finger and pointed it in Freyr’s face. “And no insults.”

  “Honestly?” Freyr looked Thor up and down while the bride posed for inspection. Thor clasped the bouquet delicately in both hands at the gown’s empire waist, from which thick folds of tapestried fabric hung to the ground.

  “Not bad. If I’d been imprisoned for thousands of years with only Valthrudnir for company, I might marry you myself.” Freyr extended his arm. “Let’s get you to your wedding.”

  Thor rested his big hand lightly on Freyr’s elbow and allowed himself to be led forward. They came around the last bend and found a clearing ringed with flaming torches where the path seemed to dead-end into a rock wall.

  Thor felt his cousin stiffen and his gait slow as they drew closer to the meeting point. He knew Freyr was fighting the temptation to look back for a glimpse of Heimdall.

  “He’s there,” Thor whispered beneath the lace veil. “And even if he’s not, we can take these guys.”

  “You think I’m afraid to face a bunch of Frost Giants?”

  Thor inclined his head. “If you’re not, there’s something seriously wrong with you.”

  A tall figure stepped out of the shadows into the circle. Freyr inhaled sharply as he recognized Thiassen. “I hate these guys.”

  “One more thing we have in common, cousin.” Thor patted Freyr’s elbow as they continued forward.

  Thiassen opened his arms wide. “We welcome the twins of the Vanir, Freya and Freyr.”

  Thor and Freyr stepped into the circle of torches. Thiassen moved toward them and bowed. “An especially hearty welcome to the goddess Freya, soon to be Queen of the Frost Giants.”

  While Freyr’s pained smile froze on his face, Thor did everything in his power to keep from spitting on the ground. Queen of the Frost Giants. He tried to imagine how cool and collected the real Freya would be, even upon being offered such a despicable title.

  “It’s just you, then?” Freyr’s voice cracked.

  “I was elected to the honor of greeting the bride and her brother.” Thiassen plucked a pair of apples out of his vest pocket.

  “You are no doubt feeling weak.” He held the apples out to his guests. “There will be more at the wedding feast, of course, when we can sit side by side as true kin. Take these as tokens of our goodwill, and replenish yourselves for the ceremony.”